


Under Cover

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Boyz go dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Cover

**Author's Note:**

> This started life as an Obsenad, and has been expanded a bit since then. Much mahalo to my beta, who wished to remain behind the scenes. Since I wrote the thing, any mistakes are mine. Feedback in all forms is welcome.

## Under Cover

by FireHorse

Author's disclaimer: They ain't mine. But we all knew that, just like we all know that this disclaimer won't save my ass should the legal beagles come after me.

* * *

Under cover, again. In the kind of club where I felt like I had 'cop' tattooed on my forehead, again. And Sandburg, predictably enough, was blending right into the crowd, dancing with whoever asked. Rafe was there as his 'date', and I was there to do the Sentinel thing, to try to smell the drugs before they got used. 

Rohypnol has a strange, pungently bitter smell, at least to me. We were hoping this would be the edge we needed to find this nutjob and stop him. We had a serial rapist cruising the gay bars, and using a lethal combination of rohypnol, alcohol, and something as yet unknown. 

The only good thing, as far as I was concerned, was that thanks to Sandburg neither the noise, nor the lights, nor the smells were really bothering me. Watching him flirt with everything moving, watching him shake that ass as he lost himself in the music, that was bothering me. 

He worked the crowd like a pro, and no matter how many times I tried to tell myself this was just a job, I couldn't stop seeing him out there, picking somebody up. Seeing him on the dance floor, sweaty and smiling, grinding his ass into somebody else's crotch. 

Without thought, I found myself on the dance floor, and rudely cut in on his latest dance partner. The guy was flying-I could smell the heroin by-products from ten feet away. Im not sure he noticed that he was suddenly dancing by himself. 

Blair just looked at me, then turned his back to me as he pulled my arms around his waist. The music changed to something with an even heavier beat and Sandburg was gone, lost in whatever universe he goes to when he gets like this. I work out, Sandburg dances. It all serves the same function-escape. Sandburg puts on a good free-and-easy face, but thats not the way it really is, and this case was pushing all of his buttons. 

My hands were clamped to the sides of his hips as we gyrated together. With a coy smile over his shoulder, he shifted my hands until they were in the pockets of his faded jeans. I was kind of surprised there was room, seeing as how there _wasn't_ room for underwear under them. 

I tried to tell myself that this was just for show, just part of the job, but the heavy weight throbbing behind my zipper wouldn't let me lie to myself like that. How Sandburg didn't notice it was beyond me. I didnt know whether to be grateful or disappointed. 

The music slowed, and so did we. Sandburg slid his hands down my wrists and pulled my hands from his pockets. I started to turn and head for the table, but he turned and neatly inserted one hard thigh between mine. He looked into my face as he tucked my hands into his back pockets, and his expression took my breath away. This wasn't just for show, or part of the job. This was real, as real as the hard-on I could feel against my own thigh. 

He ground against my thigh in time with the music. His eyes, a hot blue, staring into mine, drifted closed as I pulled him closer to me and let him feel how hard I was. We stood there, swaying together, until the music stopped. When the lights blinked to signal closing time, I started to pull away, again, but again, he stopped me. 

Before I knew what was happening, his mouth was against mine, hot and sweet, tasting of the fruit juice he'd been drinking. One last, lascivious grind, and he released me with a small smile. "C'mon, Jim. Let's go home." 

The waft of pheromones that trailed behind him promised much, and I quickly followed him off the dance floor. i

* * *

End

 


End file.
